what i read

Last Saturday night Drea and I headed out to go to the soft opening of a new restaurant that’s a client of mine. The food (English gastropub fare) was great and their beer list was amazing. I’m excited to go there with my beer loving brother soon and watch him drool.

Unfortunately we were seated next to a woman who didn’t share any of our feelings about the place. And repeatedly voiced this to our server.

She didn’t like the mushrooms. Her cocktail was too bitter. The tasting size of the deviled egg wasn’t enough for her. Und so weiter.

At the end of our meal the owner brought Drea and I two tiny glasses, one with a rose infused liquor and one with a violet infused liquor. Both smelled like heaven and were smooth going down – better than any liquor I’ve ever tasting (which is saying a lot as a former bartender and, at one time, possibly a functioning alcoholic). Drea opted not to have any, and while I “mmmm!”ed in pleasure she excused herself to go to the bathroom for the 5th time that night. The woman next to us took this as her cue to say something.

“Congrats on the baby,” she said, her eyes going towards Drea as she walked away. I said thank you. “Y’know,” she began, “one of MY good friends is dating a doctor and HE says that it’s TOTALLY okay for pregnant women to have a drink once in a while.” She smiled a fake smile at me.

“We know,” I told her, “but she had a glass of champagne with brunch earlier and we don’t want to get the baby plastered today.”

“Oh,” she said, getting the hint to mind her own business and turning back towards her date.

The best “mind yer beeswax” comment I ever read about was this pregnant lady in a bathroom being asked by a total stranger if she was planning on breastfeeding. To which preggers replied, “I don’t know.” Then Know-It-All went on and on about how she HAD to breastfeed (total stranger, mind you), and then preggers interrupted her rant by saying, “Hang on. I didn’t mean I don’t know if I’m going to breastfeed. I meant I don’t know if I’m keeping the baby.” Show STOPPER. That, my friends, is awesome. (Sippy Cups Are Not for Chardonnay, by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor)